The Exorcism of Emily Rose and the art of right-wing suggestion.
Remember the months before The Passion of the Christ opened, when everyone thought Mel Gibson had gone insane? There were rumors the film would be released in ancient Aramaic without an English soundtrack or subtitles. Other reports told of skyrocketing budgets and the Ahab-esque behavior of the director. Mel's right-wing religious fanaticism had finally gotten the best of him. Of course, as we all now know, the movie enjoyed financial success beyond what anyone could've guessed, and is currently the number-10 grossing film of all time.
But the widely predicted religious moviemaking backlash hasn't materialized — at least not with cinematic depictions of Moses and Noah as some had prophesized. Why? The success of The Passion was a frightening glimpse at an audience the Hollywood left doesn't want to admit exists, because they are incapable, or uninterested, in producing entertainment for them. Studio execs and agents aren't known for attending church on Sundays, and this isn't the type of filmmaking they want to spend their life re-packaging. Leave that to the Pax network, they think.
The phenomenon of The Passion is, however, slowly popping up in other, seemingly less likely ways. Instead of making overtly religious films, the studios have cleverly decided to sell to this audience in the way Hollywood knows best — through genre. This summer, for instance, values and morals have outgrossed gross comedies and action spectacles, and the movies that learned the lesson of The Passion are the box office champs.
Much ink has already been spilled about March of the Penguins and how it is the family values (and "intelligent design") poster movie for the summer. (The film has also been criticized for ignoring certain anti-environmental U.S. policies that have threatened the marching penguins. Coincidence? Probably not. That's a "liberal" idea that wouldn't appeal to the mainstream penguins demographic.) But more interesting right now is the success of The Exorcism of Emily Rose, a getting-rid-of-the-demon ghost movie that won the box office derby last weekend and, if the middle of the country continues to see its values reflected in the fabric of the plot, might just snowball to record numbers.
The story follows the court trial of Father Moore (Tom Wilkinson), a local priest who performs an exorcism on a college-age girl after she starts speaking tongues and contorting her body into a pretzel. After her death, Moore is arrested for negligence, and a self-admitted agnostic lawyer, Erin Bruner (Laura Linney), must defend him against scientific evidence that indicates Emily Rose was merely epileptic and psychotic.
As has become familiar, the movie pits religion against science, and questions not merely the actions of the characters, but the way we, as a society, are supposed to feel about the place of religion in our lives.
(Warning: Spoilers ahead.)
By the end of the film, the jury (read: the common man) has been converted to the side of the dignified and sympathetic priest, accepting that Emily was, in fact, possessed and the exorcism was a righteous act — the last and only hope to save her. They convict him, but the sentence is time served — he is free to go. Along the way, the movie attempts objectivity, but clearly the heroic characters are the devout, as the scientists are portrayed as cold, heartless nuts who don't possess the wisdom to think beyond their own test tubes. The prosecuting attorney, likewise, is an ice cube who claims to be a religious man, but in reality, we intuit that he pays lip service to God more than actually believing in him. With fire and brimstone courtroom theatrics, it's easy to see The Exorcism of Emily Rose as Inherit the Wind in reverse: the scientists are the zealots, the religious men are humanists, and in his case of faith vs. fact, God wins.
As a work of propaganda, The Exorcism of Emily Rose works undeniably well, proposing that because we can't prove that God doesn't exist, the result of that doubt must be a willingness to accept the possibility that he does, and all the resulting ramifications. It's somewhat simpleminded but equally foolproof, leaving little wiggle room for your run-of-the-mill liberal urban agnostic who won't listen to political arguments based on religious belief. And as audiences lap up the exciting thrills of a well-made horror flick, they also unknowingly are fed a convincing dogma, and just possibly, a viewer entering the theater who wasn't sure about natural selection or intelligent design might get subtly pushed to one side without knowing it. Indeed, it's become a trademark right-wing trick — the use of suggestion and implication, a creeping mindset that invades the psyche, planting ideas that stick in the subconscious.
But what works even better in The Exorcism of Emily Rose is the depiction of the emptiness of the modern, urban, agnostic lifestyle. Bruner sleeps alone every night following a nightly cocktail session at the local lawyer's watering hole after endless hours at the office. Her boss is a snake, and her career is built on a series of moral corruptions. (Her most famous case was defending a man who later murdered again.) You imagine this is one of those many women in their 30s who soak up Sex and the City and He's Just Not That Into You, who can't seem to find love despite enormous prowess in the boardroom making money and climbing the corporate ladder. When demons haunt Bruner's condo at 3 a.m., you can't help but wonder if the situation would be a lot less terrifying if a partner were sleeping next to her in that million-dollar pad. Friends and confidants are non-existent, and when she sits alone with Father Moore in his cell and admits her spiritual (aka mid-life) crisis, it feels more like a lonely girl's call for help than a lost soul who is questioning her non-faith. The final image of the film is Bruner lying in bed after having just quit her job, gazing at the viewer, wondering how life will be changed by this experience. The audience senses that she will now lead an existence that is influenced by religion, but that her epiphany will be less about God and more about lifestyle — you guess that she's going to work less, find a husband, have some kids, and go to church. And this is the real genius of The Exorcism of Emily Rose: It's not so much the promotion of Christianity that's convincing, but rather the debunking of lifestyles not guided by a belief in a higher power that sticks in your mind.
In reflecting conservative mores, The Exorcism of Emily Rose is a reverse version of the 1973 film, The Exorcist, in which Chris MacNeil (Ellen Burstyn) is a divorced professional actress raising her daughter alone. One of the more famous scenes in that film depicts the daughter, Regan (Linda Blair), ruining a chic dinner party by urinating in front of the guests. This cannot be tolerated in city life, and so the goal of the exorcism is to restore order — here, that means the ability of a single mother to work, earn money and raise her child. The devil invading Regan's body is, indeed, symbolically a condemnation of MacNeil's lifestyle. But in this movie, the demon is forced out, suggesting that order (single motherhood, urban living, left-wing politics) is a positive force and worthy of maintenance. Had the devil succeeded in killing Regan, it would send a different message, but MacNeil is victorious, and you sense that life will go on in fairly the same manner. Another cocktail party is just a day away.
In contrast, in The Exorcism of Emily Rose, order is represented by the devout (the nuclear Rose family) and possession is a way to prove the existence and power of religious forces. Late in the story, the filmmakers suggest that the devil taking over the girl's body is actually an act of God: The Virgin Mary offers Emily a choice — to be rid of the demons or allow them to live inside her as proof to others of mystical powers. She chooses martyrdom, and becomes a Jesus figure — stigmata and all — and in an epilogue we learn that thousands flock to her grave to pay homage. Emily Rose's death is a Passion-esque demise — meant to inspire belief, not doubt, allegiance to a higher power because of her suffering. Thus, the exorcism can't (and must not) succeed for two thematic reasons: first, because it would negate the Christ-like sacrifice and, second, because it would prove that man is powerful and can work the wonders of God (i.e. healing the sick) which edges closely to unpopular ideas (abortion, Terry Schiavo, euthanasia) amongst religious conservatives. As Regan was possessed by the devil for being the daughter of a liberal and God saves her so she can continue to be a liberal, Emily Rose is possessed by the devil so she can "scientifically" prove there is a God, and inspire liberals to give up their corporate jobs and start having families and attend church. Possession, in this case, is a tool of God, not a punishment for not believing in him.
Perhaps it's a sign of the time that movies, which used to be instrumental in suggesting a more progressive world and illustrating change through symbolic storytelling, are experiencing a role reversal. The smart money these days is on tradition and the "values" culture, not the culture of change and revolution. Moviemakers, of course, always want to find what's selling and keep remaking it until the tide turns. And so, The Passion and The Exorcism of Emily Rose are two sides of the same coin — both playing to consumers who voted for Bush because he goes to church and because Laura is just such a sweet lady. The question is: Where are the voices of the other side? Like the Democratic Party, left-wing filmmakers are finding their ideology a tougher sell. Blue state audiences, these days, are too busy spending their dollars at the latest quirky coming-of-age tale or offbeat love story, kitsching and clever-ing themselves into an irrelevant corner. Meanwhile, the Emily Rose side uses genre to gain political converts, planting ideas of God into the psyche, like fantasies of Iraqi weapons of mass destruction. Call it Karl Rove cinema.
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